Day of the Diamond
by Quiet Time
Summary: Gwen has Rhys' diamond on her finger but Jack says the thought of her brought him back. Did she make the right choice, or has it been made for her? Canon compliant - no Gwacky ending, no gratuitous Gwenbashing. Owned by BBC/Starz


**This is set just after KKBB. I imagine Gwen was in a very confused place right then. **

The ring glitters on Gwen's finger. A simple, classic piece of understated beauty, not unlike the man who gave it to her. A symbol of the choice she made, the promise she gave. A symbol, and a reminder, because apparently she needs one.

Gwen raises her wineglass, and the ring sparkles again, the stone at its heart catching fire from the candle sitting primly on its holder in the centre of the table. Voices surround them, bright, _chatty _voices, excited but determinedly subdued, because this sort of place frowns on loud.

Rhys wrinkles his nose at the offer of _pommes frites _and assures the waiter that French fries will be fine with his steak. Eyebrows arch disapprovingly back at them as the waiter pointedly enquires how _Monsieur_ would like his _filet mignon_ done.

Rhys indulges the man by agreeing to medium rare, instead of insisting the delicate cut is cooked until he can taste the charcoal, which is actually how he prefers it.

Gwen hides her giggles behind her wineglass. White wine, to accompany the seafood dish she selected. It has to be chicken or seafood tonight, because she wants to avoid red wine. Tonight Gwen wants to forget today, and red would bring back too much. A red jacket, red lips against hers; and blood, there's always blood on the days she wants to forget. Blood from Toshiko's head wound, a blood-encrusted crescent in Ianto's hair where John Hart pressed the muzzle of his gun too hard, blood in the syringe that saved them all. White wine is the better choice, tonight. White is clean, sparkling,_ pure_, just like the diamond on her finger.

"You shouldn't tease him," Gwen says, with an effort at reproof. "He's just doing his job."

Rhys florid wink sends her off into giggles again, because it's moments like this that remind Gwen how much she loves this man she's chosen. How much she _needs_ him to remind her again and again that it isn't all bad, out here in the real world. And at times like this Gwen chills at the thought of her colleagues, her comrades in arms, who don't have someone to drag them back into the warmth. She hurts for them, as she thinks about how lonely they must be, with no-one to chase Torchwood away at the end of the long, long day.

Owen, with whoever he's picked up tonight. Someone pretty, no doubt, but someone who'll never know him well enough to offer any comfort beyond the moment of bliss they're no doubt sharing. Toshiko, with…..whatever Toshiko does when she's not at work. Gwen wishes it wasn't so easy to picture Tosh with the latest Nintendo DS instead of some pretty boy – or girl- Gwen doesn't assume since Mary. But whenever Gwen ponders what Tosh might do to keep the loneliness at bay after the cog door rolls shut, she sees the technical genius propped up in bed with pillows heaped at her back and eyes alight behind her glasses as she triumphs over the latest challenge from Silicon Valley.

Even Jack and Ianto – Gwen is neither as blind nor unobservant as the others like to think. She knows something is happening between those two, has been for a while, even if she isn't quite sure what it is. But even them, if they're together, how do they escape when they've taken Torchwood home with them? Gwen tried that, with Owen, and while it was a blessed relief not to have to _explain_, how can you hope to banish the horrors when they're looking back at you from the other set of eyes?

But tonight is not for Torchwood. Tonight is for Rhys. Gwen smiles, a deep, honest smile, as she raises her glass to return a toast. They're celebrating Rhys' promotion, and Gwen's proud of him. Tonight is as simple as that, and tonight is beautiful because of its simplicity. As they exchange smiles, Gwen renews the promise to herself never to complain again about calls from Rhys while she's at work. Toshiko used that call to trace Gwen. Because Rhys called, because Rhys got promoted, Tosh was able to find Gwen, paralyzed by a kiss from another man (but she doesn't want to think about that. She _won't_ think about that. It wasn't her choice, that kiss, not at all). Rhys saved her, with that call. Without that tiny beacon she'd have lain in that filthy warehouse until the paralysis spread far enough to stop her heart.

Rhys saved her, but Gwen can't even thank him, at least, not in words, because he's not allowed to know. Gwen smiles at him over their beautifully presented mains, because she's contemplating other ways to express gratitude; ones that don't need words – at least not coherent ones – and he won't suspect she's compensating for anything, because this _is_ a celebration, right?

Gwen's eyes send smouldering promises across the table. Smoke signals and a smokescreen over what she can't say, and Rhys suddenly decides he doesn't want dessert, after all.

-XXX-

Rhys holds her close even in his sleep. Gwen's wide awake, trying to ignore the stiffness in her neck from lying awkwardly across his arm, because she doesn't want to move. She wants to sleep, now, here, curled in Rhys' arms. Every bone, every muscle in her body cries out for sleep, and rightly so, because with the time reversal this day has gone on for a hell of a lot longer than twenty-four hours, but her body is losing out to her mind, yet again. Gwen finally concedes the battle and slips out of the warm, safe arms. Padding softly through the lounge room, her footsteps muffled in fluffy slippers, she finds another glass of wine for company while she tries to silence the screaming of her conscience.

Here, on this very couch, Gwen chose Rhys. Here, with Rhys lying on the same cushions her feet are tucked beneath, she accepted the diamond which would lead to the promise. The promise to have and to hold, _forsaking all others_, until death do them part. Her death, most likely, at least that's how Gwen would prefer it, but it wasn't that long ago she was sobbing over Rhys' body, back at Torchwood, back before they opened the Rift and released Hell into the world.

Gwen's lower lip works its way in between her teeth. That was a choice, too. She chose Rhys over Jack that time. A counterbalance to all those nights she'd chosen Jack over her boyfriend, brushing Rhys off without a moment's thought at the demand of a text message. She _could_ pretend it was Torchwood she'd chosen all those times. Torchwood. Duty. Responsibility. Saving the World. But Gwen isn't a coward, and she tries not to hide from the truth, whether she likes it or not, so she won't lie to herself, however many lies she has to tell everyone else.

The ring flickers in the lamplight, shattering into fragments, viewed through a veil of tears. The symbol of her choice. In the silence of the night, with Rhys sleeping the sleep of the innocent on the other side of the wall, there's nothing to quiet the voice of her conscience.

It asks questions she doesn't want to answer, that she _can't_ answer, in a voice as hard as the diamond in her ring, slicing through the layers of excuses and leaving her soul bare for inspection. _ 'Is it a choice when there's only one to choose?'_ And '_Would you have promised Rhys the rest of your life if Jack hadn't left?'_

Gwen doesn't know, she really doesn't, but she should, oh, she should. Would the diamond still be on her finger if Jack hadn't vanished in a swirl of forgotten paperwork? Would she have made a different choice if Jack was there, here, everywhere, sneaking into her heart as he had into her mind, into her life?

Gwen didn't have to decide, today. Jack didn't let her. But who knows what might have happened if he hadn't felt the ring on her finger? Gwen frowns into the mirror of her thoughts. Was Jack respecting her choice when he backed away? Or was he just confirming the child's accusation tumbling from her horrified lips. Even now Gwen cringed from it. 'No one else will' hadn't been an acceptable excuse since….oh, since she'd gone to the school dance with that rough lad her parents both disliked on sight. But Jack turned her into a child, and maybe she was, maybe they all were, compared to him.

_What brought me back was the thought of you. _Now, that was a statement to turn any girl's head. But what he'd whispered to her, he'd said out loud to Ianto first, for all that he'd turned it to include the rest of them. _I came back for you, _Jack said, looking straight into blue eyes which matched his own for the number of secrets they held.

And Toshiko whispered later, with her eyes shining like a pair of candles, that Jack asked Ianto for a date, and Ianto said Yes. An actual, twenty-first century, traditional 'dinner and a movie' first date. As far as Gwen knows, the last person Jack dated was Estelle. And now, after all this time, he's going to date Ianto, which has to be significant enough to blow Owen's 'part time shag' theory out of the water. Maybe it _was _true, once, but if Toshiko is right, and Gwen has to admit Tosh is rarely wrong, perhaps it won't be true for very much longer.

Jack made a decision today, as Gwen did, one evening on this couch with Rhys. Jack chose Ianto, and Gwen ought to be happy for them, she _wants_ to be happy for them. Gwen cares about them both (all right, she admits, but only to her conscience, maybe she cares about one just a bit more than the other). She wants them to find comfort together, as she does with Rhys.

But….oh….But….When Jack chose Ianto, was it really the same as it was when Gwen chose Rhys? Did Jack make _his_ choice because it was the only choice left? And isn't it unforgivably arrogant to assume Jack only had her and Ianto to choose from? Jack could have anyone, _does _have anyone, anyone he wants, anytime. But Gwen knows him, well, knows some of him, and she's fairly sure Ianto knows the rest, only you never can tell with Ianto, either.

Gwen rubs fretful fingers across her temples, trying to banish the growing headache while the voice of reason tries to compete with all seven deadly sins shouting at her. She can't escape it, can't escape the dishonorable truth. Gwen wants it all, wants Him, _and_ him asleep in the next room. And it's selfish, oh so selfish, because she doesn't want _Him_ to have _him_ instead, with his sharp suits and sharper wits, even though that's probably best for everyone. Gwen's angry with herself, and angrier still at the whole world, because she _can't_ have it all.

At times like this, with a beautiful declaration of devotion burning its brand into her finger and hopeless, helpless _want _tearing her into shreds, love and hate merge, blur, become one. She loves Rhys, she does, she does, _I do. I do. In sickness and in health, forsaking all others. _She loves Rhys, and she hates…..she hates…..she _wants _to hate, she _ought _to hate…

Bloody Jack Harkness, dangling from his lofty perch like the apple Eve should have known better than to pick, but couldn't help reaching for anyway. He's maddening, frustrating, and oh so _damned_ tempting. They've made their choices this time, and they'll live with them, love with them, and in the morning tonight will be a fever dream, and Gwen will laugh at herself and kiss Rhys goodbye with a light heart as she heads to work.

But it _will_ happen again. She and Jack, they're a bit like magnets, attracting and repelling. Inevitably, they'll stand at a crossroads once more, shouting challenge and defiance at each other with their eyes if not with their voices.

Who will Gwen choose the next time a choice has to be made? Will she step back to safety, or will she run headlong into danger? Because Jack_ is_ danger, a blazing red alert, red like wine, like blood, glowing like the heart of a flame. Rhys is safety, shining and bright and serene, glistening like the heart of a diamond.

Jack is knowledge, Rhys is ignorance. Jack is guilt, Rhys is innocence. Innocence which has woken and is currently calling her name in sleep-laden tones from the other side of the wall.

Gwen wipes the tears away on the back of her hand. There's an old joke that the best way to keep a diamond clean is to immerse it in soapy water three times a day, but Gwen doesn't do the dishes, so tears will have to do instead. She unfolds her legs, winces as they protest being curled beneath her for so long, and rises to go to the man she has chosen. The one who will soothe away her doubts, calm her fears, banish her demons until she has to face them again. As Gwen's hand drops to her side, heavy beneath the weight of her unsatisfied conscience, the diamond flashes back up at her. Taunting, reminding, comforting, promising, warning.

It _is _a symbol, this pretty piece of metal with a stone in the centre. A beautiful, flawless symbol, and perhaps Gwen's just being cynical when she reflects how perfect it is for her.

It's a solitaire. It's alone. And it's cold.

**As I said, at this stage she's very confused. In later chapters she will sort herself out, but they won't be written unless someone wants to read them…..**


End file.
